


Imagination

by Ekala



Series: Assassin's Creed Kink Meme Fills [6]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekala/pseuds/Ekala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"None of this had ever been a problem until Desmond showed up. Or, as Shaun knew him, Francisco. " De-anon from the (original?) Assassin's Creed Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> Presented unedited, for archival purposes only.

Shaun had an active imagination. It was that imagination that made him such a good researcher for the Assassins; he connected dots that no one else would have dreamed of seeing. However, it also made his porn collection rather bland at first glance. (Once one got past his attraction to males rather than females, of course.) Magazines, with models - clothed, shirtless, underwear-only, all sorts. He had his favorite models, like anyone, and his favorite fantasies.

None of this had ever been a problem until Desmond showed up. Or, as Shaun knew him, Francisco. (After the first time he talked, Shaun was never sure how he managed to pass as a hispanic.) And then, _then_ it was a problem.

Lucy had led him in, and Shaun had nearly had a heart attack. His favorite model - or at least his _identical twin_ had just walked through the door. He was sex in the flesh, to Shaun, even in the simple hoodie and jeans combination. That was his imagination at work again. He covered his sudden, intense arousal with his usual biting sarcasm.

That night, he jerked off harder than he had in his entire life.

He managed to deal with it for a while, burying himself in his work instead of thinking about it. Desmond's voice was far enough removed from his fantasies that he could talk to him without any trouble - it was only looking at him that was the problem.

Three weeks later, he found him in his room, flipping through his porn stash.

Shaun thought he could literally feel his life crumbling around him.

"So, I see you like my shoots." Shaun choked, spluttered, unsure whether it was rage or intense want flushing his cheeks. "I don't really mind, I guess. Some of them are kind of embarrassing, though." He unfolded the pinup, whistling and holding it up. "Like this. Being that exposed in front of that many people is crazy." Shaun tried to reconcile the image he had fantasized about so many times with the bloody wanker that he actually was. It was nearly impossible.

Desmond watched his reaction, laughing and standing. His face suddenly turned dark, hands slamming to either side of Shaun's head. Shaun froze, trapped physically and mentally. Desmond smirked, predatory.

"Tell me, Shaun, how much do you want me?" Shaun stuttered again, unable to form syllables with Desmond _so close_ dear god he couldn't stop staring at those lips that would look so good sliding over his _cock_ and suddenly he was pressing against him, and Shaun could feel every inch of muscle against his own. His hips bucked against the hard body on top of him, and he felt rather than saw Desmond smirk, and his voice was breathy against Shaun's shoulder.

"That much. Fuck, Shaun..." Desmond had barely enough control to keep himself still. "Tell me. Tell me what you thought about." Shaun wanted to push him away, or punch him in the face, but couldn't find the power behind his fogging glasses and shaking hips. So he half-heartedly swatted him on the shoulder and mumbled in his ear instead.

"Shut up, you wanker, and just d-do something already, christ." Desmond laughed, the sound sending pleasant vibrations through the both of them. He stayed still otherwise, not giving an inch to Shaun, voice dark.

"Not good enough. You tell me or I walk away." Shaun trembled, hands clenching in Desmond's sweatshirt. Desmond let out another puff of laughter, whispering in his ear now. "Tell me."

\--

"Lips, y-your bloody stupid cocksucking lips doing what they were made for, and then your bloody marvelous cock screwing the hell out of me! Just get on with it, you stupid git!" Desmond laughed again, lowly, pushing Shaun further into the wall and rewarding him with a harsh kiss, tongues and teeth. Shaun scrabbled at Desmond's back, moaning and pushing harder against him. Desmond broke the kiss and slid his hands down Shaun's sides, untucking his shirt and slowly undressing him. 

"I saw every look you gave me in the past three weeks. You've been in heat since I got here. It's hilarious, you know, watching you trying to cover that up with sarcastic stupidity. I thought you might be nicer once I _fucked you raw_." Shaun moaned, arching against Desmond's hands, glaring at him over sweaty glasses perched on the end of his nose. "You're such a whore, Shaun, jesus, _fuck_ , bed _now_." He tossed him towards the bed, stripping off his own clothes and pouncing on Shaun again afterwards.

"I know you've been fucking yourself every night." Shaun growled and pulled him back down into another harsh kiss as Desmond groped for some lube. He slicked two fingers and almost immediately plunged them into Shaun, biting at his lip. Shaun gasped, arching against him and down onto his fingers, nails digging into his shoulders. He _had_ been doing this, thinking of this, exactly this, of _Desmond_ of all the people in the world doing _this_ and oh god, it felt amazing.

"Fucking hell, Desmond, just do it already, _fuck_!" Desmond growled, biting into his shoulder as he lubed himself up, not quite caring if Shaun was ready or not - it was his fault, he could deal with it. Shaun grit his teeth and hissed as Desmond pushed in, thick and _huge_ and that bulge was not lying. He felt full and real and so fucking _good_ even as Desmond growled and thrust, seating himself all the way inside him.

Desmond slowly built up a rhythm, murmuring curses and praises between clenched teeth as Shaun bucked back against him. It was all too much too fast and neither of them lasted long against the slick slide of sweat and lust, both spilling themselves on Shaun's stomach and collapsing in a tangle of limbs.

Later, as Desmond mopped up said stomach with a shirt (Shaun's, since he had more than one, and he didn't need so many pretentious shirts anyways, but perhaps that was the man not the shirts being pretentious), Shaun found that he was pretty sure that he would be unable to use his imagination any more in this particular area of his life. Imagination was good, after all, but nothing beat the real thing (as much as he hated to admit it).


End file.
